


Find Me In The Dark

by CoffeeShopStoryteller (Samunderthelights)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Armie and Timothée do NOT die, CMBYN December Fest 2020, Charmie, Detective Sergeant Armie Hammer, Don't copy to another site, Falling In Love, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Murder & Romance, Murder Mystery, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27873725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samunderthelights/pseuds/CoffeeShopStoryteller
Summary: Detective Sergeant Armie Hammer is in charge of solving the murders of two young women. But when he meets a masked stranger on the night of his birthday, and the next morning a new victim is found, he can't help but wonder if this masked stranger is somehow connected to the murders.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 49
Kudos: 79
Collections: CMBYN December Fest 2020





	1. “Do we know each other?”

**Author's Note:**

> **Update January 2021 : I originally posted this story under my Samunderthelights username. In January it was moved to my CoffeeShopStoryteller pseud, together with the rest of my CMBYN RPF stories.**
> 
> Hi!  
> Here's my first entry for the [CMBYN December Fest](https://cmbynwritingfests.tumblr.com/rules)!  
> Let me explain! 😆 Why murders? Well, I went for the prompt 'Fairytales and horror stories'. I was inspired by things like Jack The Ripper - I know, technically not a horror story, but also kind of a horror story! -, but I combined it with Cinderella. This story was literally called 'Cinderella meets Jack the Ripper' while I was working on it! 😅  
> I loved trying out something completely different, and I hope some of you will enjoy reading it!  
> Xx

When Armie looks around the room, all he wants to do is scream. It isn’t the fact that he turned thirty today, or the fact that he doesn’t even know half the people at his own birthday party. But the fact that his parents aren’t even trying to hide the fact that this whole ball has been set up to introduce him to all the daughters of their wealthy friends.

He can see them encouraging the girls to come up and talk to him. And when they do, and Armie fakes a smile just to be polite, he can see his parents staring at them from across the room. He can see them hoping and praying that this will be the girl who finally steals his heart, that by this time next year, she will be his wife, and she will be pregnant.

He has just talked to the dozenth girl, his cheeks hurting from all the smiles he has had to put on, and he knows that if he will have to go through one more of these conversations, surely he will lose his mind. So he steps out of the hotel, and he takes a deep breath, for the first time tonight feeling like he can truly breathe. He even considers not going back in, and leaving the party for what it is.

But when he hears someone asking for him, he turns back around, half-expecting his parents to have sent one of their men to come and find him. But instead, a young man is standing there, his curls hanging loosely around his face which is hidden behind a white mask, trimmed with gold.

Armie recognizes the mask as one the hotel had given out to guests who had come to the ball without one. And at first he assumes the young man is just one of the guests from his party, just someone his parents had invited. But when the young man steps up to him, nervously looking around him, he realizes that he doesn’t know him.

“I’m Armie. Armie Hammer,” Armie says, flashing a smile as he outstretches his hand.

“Detective Sergeant Hammer?” the stranger asks, as he shakes his hand.

“That’s me,” Armie chuckles uncomfortably, still wondering who is hiding behind that mask. Would he recognize him if he saw his face? “Do we know each other?”

“Not yet.”

Armie finds the words ominous, and he almost asks him if he should be worried. But tonight has been draining, and he just doesn’t have the energy to worry about this stranger. So he pushes down the thought, and he flashes another smile.

“What are you doing out here?” the stranger asks. “This is your party, isn’t it?”

Armie shrugs, because what is he supposed to tell him? That he is trying to avoid his parents, the dozens of girls who have probably been preparing for tonight for weeks, their heads filled with hopes and dreams of a possible marriage? That the thought of going back in there fills him with such dread, that he would rather be out here, freezing to death, and having a conversation with this stranger who seems to know an awful lot about him.

“You are investigating the murders of those girls who were found last week, right?”

“I am.” Armie nods, growing a little uneasy.

“Do you have any idea who could have done it?” the stranger asks, and all Armie can do is listen to his voice and try to hear if he is nervous, hear if he is hiding guilt or shame. Hear pride even. But the young man simply seems curious, as most people are, and have been, ever since the two young girls were found, strangled to death in an alleyway.

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss…”

“You have to catch him,” the young man cuts him off, and Armie can feel his work-instinct taking over. He is about to ask him what his interest in the case is, why he cares so much. Where was he last week when those girls were murdered? He almost considers ripping off his mask so he can see the face hiding behind it.

But when he hears his mother’s voice, he snaps out of it, and he quickly turns around.

“What are you doing out here, Armand? You’ll freeze to death!”

“I was just…,” Armie says, but when he turns back around, the stranger is already walking away. “Wait, I don’t even know your name!”

The stranger ignores him though, but as he picks up speed, Armie sees him dropping something. So he quickly goes to pick it up, only to find the mask lying there. So he picks it up, his mother yelling for him to get back.

But all he can think about is who the young man was, and why was he here at his party?

* * *

When Armie gets into work the next morning, he is still thinking about the stranger. He has thought about how he can try and find him, even if only to return the mask to him. But he doesn’t know a thing about him, and he has never seen him before. So he doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Hammer?” Captain Stevenson bellows from his office.

Armie takes off his coat, before going into the office, only to find the man standing there, his face red, beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Another girl was found.”

“When?” Armie asks, a wave of nausea washing over him, knowing fully well that this could have been prevented. If they had worked harder, if they had figured this out sooner, then this girl would still be alive. But he also knows that he has done all that he can, and that he did not kill this girl. That they _will_ find the son of a bitch who did it.

“This morning. They say she was killed last night,” Stevenson explains. “I told ‘em you’d be there as soon as.”

“Where was she found?”

“Behind Lee’s bar. You know it?”

“Of course,” Armie says, feeling even sicker. If this girl was killed behind Lee’s bar, the bar across the street from the hotel where he was celebrating his birthday, he was close enough to hear her scream. Why couldn’t he stop it?

* * *

When he gets there, a crowd has gathered, and he catches himself looking around to find the young man from last night. But these are mostly just nosy women, and men who all want to catch a glimpse of the girl. Besides, how would he recognize him, when he hadn’t even seen his face?

“Do we know what happened to her?” Armie asks, his colleagues trying their best to shield the body from the view.

“It looks like she was strangled,” one of them explains, “Just like the others.”

“What about the…?”

“Three cuts on the inside of her thigh,” his colleague further explains. “In exactly the same place as the other two girls.”

“The press didn’t know about those, did they?” Armie asks, keeping his voice down. “So it had to be same…”

“The same, sick son of a bitch,” one of his colleagues spits out. “We’ve got to stop this guy. I have a sister, Hammer. A wife… two little girls… how do I know they’re safe out there, huh? With this son of a bitch out there, doing this.”

“We’ll get him,” Armie reassures him, before checking out the girl, wondering who she is. If she has any family, any friends. But the other two girls still haven’t been named, and no one has come looking for them, and something tells him that this girl won’t be any different. That whoever is doing this, knows exactly how to choose his victims.

* * *

Armie had spent most of the morning asking around at Lee’s bar, looking for possible witnesses. But most of the regulars who had been there at the time of the murder hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Besides, they said, they probably wouldn’t have noticed a murderer anyway, with all the ‘rich bastards in costumes and masks’.

Armie knew that they were talking about the guests from his party, and it had made him feel even guiltier, knowing that a murderer could have gone unnoticed because of him, because of his birthday.

He had tried to shake the thought though, and he had tried his best to look for clues as to who this girl was, to see if anyone knew her. But as he had expected, no one knew her, and no one had seen a thing. So once again, he was left right where he had started.

But just as he is about to head off home for the day, he remembers that he still has the stranger’s mask. It almost feels wrong to think about him now, after the discovery of the girl. But there is something about the young man that intrigues him, and he knows that he won’t be able to rest until he finds out who he is.

So he goes to the hotel where they had celebrated his birthday, immediately feeling like the walls are closing in on him again. But this mask is his only clue, and he knows that it was given out by the hotel.

“Hello, can I help you… Mister Hammer, right?” the young woman asks, a polite smile on her face. “Last night’s ball…”

“Yes.” Armie nods. “Yes, I was wondering if you remember who these masks were given to.”

“Oh, at least thirty of them were handed out, sir. Some of the guests didn’t bring their own mask, so we offered this one to them,” the young woman says, taking the mask from Armie’s hands to have a closer look. “They all looked the same.”

“Do you remember a young man, I guess he must have been in his early twenties… curly hair…”

“Not really, sir. I’m sorry.”

She hands the mask back to Armie, who sighs, feeling like today has been nothing but wasted time. He knows he should go home, but something draws him back to Lee’s bar, where he orders himself a drink, hoping it will numb at least some of the sorrow he is feeling.

The drink doesn’t help much, nor do the second and the third. So he is about to get up and head off home. But when a handsome young man enters the bar, he remains seated, too distracted by the young man to get himself to move.

He must have felt Armie’s eyes on him, because the young man turns around, and when he sees Armie, he flashes a smile, before coming over to him.

“I’m sorry, I was just…”

“Have a drink with me,” the young man says, and for a moment he wonders if this is the stranger from last night. But he shakes the thought, because what would be the odds? Chances are, with the girl murdered around here, that the stranger was actually the killer, recognizing him as the one investigating the murders. He was probably just trying to mess with him, to make him feel even more inadequate at his job. And he succeeded, because after the young man has bought them both a drink, and he has sat down at his table, he chuckles.

“Bad day?” he asks, referring to the troubled look on Armie’s face.

“You have no idea,” Armie sighs.

“Believe me, I do,” the stranger says, and Armie shoots a questioning look, but he just shrugs. “I’m Timothée, by the way.”

“Armie.”

Timothée gives a small nod, the corner of his lip curling up into a small smile.

“So… Armie…”

“What?” Armie chuckles, something about this young man making him forget all about last night and today, if even for just a minute.

“How about tonight, nothing else matters. It’s just you… me…”

“Our drinks,” Armie suggests, the smile on Timothée’s face growing bigger.

“Let’s make tonight a good one.”


	2. “Don’t make me do this.”

“I’m sorry,” Armie says, as he awkwardly fumbles to button up his shirt. “I don’t usually do this…”

“Neither do I,” Timothée says, looking up at him from the bed. “Maybe I should.”

Armie can’t help but smile, but then he remembers what is expected of him, what the implications would be if anyone were to find out about this.

“I can’t…”

“Are you married?” Timothée asks, and when Armie sits down on the edge of the bed, he sighs. “I knew you were too good to be true.”

“I am not married, Timothée. But this… I can’t be doing this.”

“Why not? It’s not like anyone has to find out.”

“Things like this, it always comes out,” Armie says, looking over his shoulder. But when he sees the hurt look on Timothée’s face, he quickly looks away again. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“You have no idea,” Armie says, before getting up, grabbing his coat, and leaving the apartment without saying another word.

Last night had been everything he could have hoped it would be, and in the moment it had felt like something inside of him was finally allowed to open up and come to life. But the second he had woken up, he had felt sick to his stomach. Because his life would be ruined if this were to come out, he would lose his family, his job… all for what?

* * *

“What did you find out yesterday?” Stevenson asks as soon as Armie has stepped into his office.

“Not much. It looks like it was the same killer. She looked like the other two girls, was strangled, had the same three cuts on her thigh… no one saw anything, no one knows her…”

“This guy knows what he’s doing,” Stevenson says, before handing Armie a letter. “But it looks like he got one thing wrong this time.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone knows the girl,” Stevenson explains. “Lee found a letter at the bar, he just dropped it off.”

“When did he find this?”

“This morning, but he thinks it could have been left there last night. He didn’t see anything, but the letter is addressed to us.”

“Then why leave it at Lee’s?”

“Who knows?” Stevenson shrugs.

Armie quickly reads through it, and it has the girl’s name in it, her age, her address, there is even a photo attached to it. He can’t help but wonder if this is the killer messing with him again. If the man had seen him at Lee’s last night, if he had chosen to leave the letter there, just to know how close he had been. But he keeps the thought to himself, because there is no need for Stevenson to know that he was there last night. That he had been with Timothée.

“We’ll have to check it out,” he says, and Stevenson nods. “I’ll go now, I…”

“I’m going with you,” the Captain says, and Armie almost asks him why. Why now? But he knows why. Because he still hasn’t solved the case, and he probably feels like he should step in himself. It makes Armie want to apologize, not only to Captain Stevenson, but to the girl in the photo.

* * *

“Looks like she lived on her own,” Stevenson says, after they have been let in by the landlady. “I doubt we’ll find much here.”

“It doesn’t look like there has been a struggle,” Armie says. “And they think she was killed where she was found, just like the other girls.”

Armie looks around the room, and at first he thinks he’ll have to agree with the Captain that they won’t find anything useful here. But then a picture frame in the windowsill catches his eye, and he goes to pick it up.

But when he sees the photo, he nearly drops it.

“What’s that?” Stevenson asks. “Who do you think he is? Could they have been lovers?”

“I don’t know,” Armie mumbles, still trying to recover from the shock at seeing Timothée’s face in the photo with the murdered girl.

“We’ll have to find this boy.”

Armie nods, his thoughts racing. Because what if he had been right, what if Timothée was the young man in the mask, the murderer who was trying to mess with him? What if last night had just been a part of his game?

“I’ll go talk to the landlady, see if she knows his name,” Stevenson says. “You try and find anything else that can help us.”

Stevenson leaves the room, and Armie knows that he should be doing his job, but he is frozen in the spot, and when Stevenson comes back, he still hasn’t moved.

“She only knows his first name. Doesn’t think they were lovers. She suspects the girl was a prostitute.”

“Really?” Armie asks, immediately wondering if Timothée knew. But then wondering, if the girl was a prostitute, is he one too?

“Did you find anything else in here?”

* * *

Stevenson had not left Armie’s side that day, but they had not had any luck finding Timothée. Some people had recognized him from the photo, but no one knew where he lived, or what he did for a living. So Stevenson had gone back to the station, and Armie was meant to ask around some more.

But he knew exactly where to find Timothée. He had been at his apartment, he had spent last night in his bed. So as soon as Stevenson had left, he had gone there, but now that he is waiting for Timothée to open the door, he isn’t sure if coming here was a good idea after all. Because what if this is Timothée, the boy in the mask, the killer, who is playing him? What if Timothée is waiting for him, ready to kill him as soon as he’s through the door?

“You got the letter, then?”

“It was you? You left it at Lee’s?” Armie asks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She deserves to have a name, Armie,” Timothée says, but they are still standing in the doorway, and Armie feels like he can’t say any of the things that are on his mind without the neighbors overhearing.

“May I come in?”

Timothée lets him in, but he doesn’t look anything like he had done last night. Last night he was relaxed and easygoing, now he seems tense and nervous.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was your friend?”

“What does it matter?” Timothée sighs.

“Did you know who I was, when we met last night?”

“I recognized you.” Timothée admits, and Armie is ready to grab his gun, right then and there. But when Timothée sits down, tears beginning to well up in his eyes, he changes his mind. It doesn’t feel like a trick, at least not right now. So Armie sits down next to him, and he reaches out for his hand.

“You know what Shelley did for a living, don’t you?”

“She was a prostitute?” Armie asks, and Timothée nods. “I have to ask…”

“I’m not,” Timothée quickly says. “I work at a bar, and that’s where we met. It’s where she spent most of her nights, trying to find…” He sighs. “She was like a sister to me.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“I can’t talk to you about this,” Timothée says. “If he finds out I’ve talked to you…”

“Help me find him, Timothée. For Shelley.”

“I can’t.”

Timothée is about to get up, but Armie stops him, and he takes the mask out of his pocket.

“Do you recognize this?” he asks, and he swears he can see the blush on the young man’s face. He can see the recognition.

“Should I?”

“Someone was seen wearing this, the night Shelley was murdered,” Armie tries, “Do you know whose it is?”

“No,” Timothée quickly says, but Armie knows that it’s a lie. And as much as he doesn’t want it to be true, he can’t help thinking that Timothée had something to do with this. That he either was the boy in the mask, or he knows exactly who he was.

“Help me find Shelley’s murderer.”

“You should go.”

“Timothée…”

“Please,” Timothée whispers, his voice breaking. “Don’t make me do this.”

* * *

Armie hadn’t been sure whether Timothée was scared, or whether he was threatening him, but he had quickly left the apartment. He can’t stop thinking about it though, because what if he had let the killer go? What if this young man had threatened him, and his reaction had been to run? But he had spent the night before with Timothée, he had seen him, he had kissed him, and tasted him. The boy he had spent the night with, he was not capable of strangling three women, was he?

When he steps into the station, Captain Stevenson is already waiting for him. For a moment he thinks Stevenson must have found out that Armie had gone to see Timothée. But when he leads him into his office, he knows that he is not about to be called out. Stevenson would have done that in front of the others, not in private.

“We have an address for this Timothée, the girl’s friend,” Stevenson says. “I want you to bring him in.”

“Why? We don’t know if he has anything to do with it.”

“His name is the only one that has come up so far.” Stevenson shrugs. “So bring him in, Hammer.”

“She was a prostitute, Captain. Any number of men could have…”

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

“But…”

“Now!” Stevenson yells out, looking like he’s about to explode. “Or do you want me to tell everyone here what it is that you get up to after you leave this station at night. Huh?”

“What are you talking about?” Armie asks, because most nights he either heads home right away, or he has dinner with his parents.

“I saw you.”

“Saw…”

“With that boy, at your party,” Stevenson spits out. “I would have expected better from you. To have my best Detective, flaunting his… perverted behavior out in the middle of the street. It’s sick!”

Armie just stands there, unable to defend himself. Because what is there to say? Obviously Stevenson knows, so what would be the point in denying it?

“Don’t make me tell them, Hammer.”

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Timothée asks, as soon as he opens the door and he sees Armie standing there. “I already told you…”

“I have to bring you in for questioning,” Armie explains, keeping his voice down in case the neighbors are listening. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Why? You think I did this? You think I killed Shelley?”

“I’m sorry, Timothée,” Armie whispers, but he can hear his voice breaking. Because the young man from last night is standing in front of him, and he remembers kissing him right here in this doorway, he remembers how they had lain in bed, spending the longest time kissing and caressing each other. There had been passion, and fire, but there had also been something sweet, something soft about the whole thing. And as Armie sees Timothée standing there, tears welling up in his eyes, the guilt becomes almost too overwhelming.

* * *

Even after Armie had brought Timothée in, he had still tried to get Stevenson to change his mind. But Stevenson had threatened him again, and Armie has been working with him long enough to know when a fight cannot be won.

“I did not kill her,” Timothée says, as soon as Armie sits down with him for questioning. “She was my best friend, Armie… Detective Sergeant Hammer.”

“Where were you on the night of the 28th of August?”

“Please…”

“You have to answer the question,” Armie says, trying his best to sound like the Detective Sergeant he is, but sounding more and more like the man who had spent the night with the young man sitting across the table from him. “Please, Timothée…”

“I was there,” Timothée sighs. “At your party.”

“My…”

Armie feels sick to his stomach, the puzzle pieces slowly starting to fall into place in his head.

“Were you at Lee’s bar?” he tries, not wanting his fears to be true. He wants Timothée to deny it, and have some kind of logical explanation.

“No. I was at the hotel.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Please stop,” Timothée pleads, but there is a knock on the door, and when Armie looks up, Stevenson is standing there, an impatient look on his face.

“I need to know, Timothée.”

“I did not kill her.”

“The mask I showed you, was it yours?” Armie asks, and he can tell that Timothée is about to open his mouth to tell a lie. But then he nods, fully aware of what this confession means for him. “You were there, and you knew who I was…”

“Please, don’t do this.”

“You were the boy in the mask,” Armie states, taking the air in the room away. “It was you all along.”


	3. “I’m dead anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little warning that there is violence in this chapter.

“He was there, Hammer. He said it himself!”

“That does not mean he killed her,” Armie argues. “He sent us that letter, Captain. He wanted us to find out who she was, to get justice for her.”

“That letter sent us right to him. He wouldn’t be the first son of a bitch to want to be caught.”

“Then why is he denying it? If he did this to get caught? I don’t think he did it.”

“He knew her, he was there… he did this, Hammer,” Stevenson says. “I don’t want to hear any more of it.”

“What about the other girls?”

“They were probably prostitutes too. He went out looking for victims, found these girls hanging around the bars… realized they wouldn’t be missed…”

“But Captain…,” Armie tries once again, but he can tell from the look on Stevenson’s face that there is no point arguing.

So he returns to Timothée’s cell, and he gets in, still not convinced that he murdered these girls. He makes sure no one is around to see them, before reaching out for his hand, but only when Timothée lets him take it, does he realize how cold he is. How tired he truly looks.

“Talk to me, please,” Armie whispers. “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters, Timothée. They are going to hang you for this,” Armie says, but when Timothée just shrugs, he sighs. “What happened that night? Do you know who did this?”

Timothée nods, but he doesn’t speak, and it almost makes Armie want to grab him and shake him up. Because if he does not tell the truth, he will be charged with these murders, and he _will_ be hanged for it. So why won’t he say the words and save himself?

“Why did you come and see me? Did you know I was there?”

“I did,” Timothée admits. “We all knew about the ball.”

“Please just… please tell me who did this. Why were you there? Were you there with Shelley?”

“I was at Lee’s with Shelley,” Timothée starts telling. “We were supposed to have a few drinks, but she said she recognized someone… I guess one of the men she’d been seeing? So she went outside to talk to him. She said she’d only be a minute, but when she didn’t come back, I went out into the alley, and I found him…”

“You saw him?”

“He was cutting her thigh,” Timothée whispers, his voice shaking. “I wanted to save her, but she was already gone.”

“Who was it?” Armie tries, but the young man just shakes his head. “Is that when you came to find me?”

“I knew you were there, and we all knew about the work you did. How you kept girls like Shelley safe,” Timothée whispers, a tear rolling down his face. Armie reaches out, and he wipes it away, but more tears start falling, so he wraps his arms around the young man, and he holds him for a moment, before letting go again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I got scared,” Timothée admits.

“Were you scared that this man was going to come after you?”

“Yes. That too. But I also knew that you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Who did this, Timothée?” Armie asks, the shivers running down his spine. Because all of his friends were there that night, his family… what if whoever did this is someone he knows? What if the killer was there that night, because of his party? What if he got away, because of him? Because Armie had been too blind to see him for who he truly is?

* * *

“Did he say anything?” Stevenson asks. “Did he confess to killing those other girls?”

“No,” Armie sighs. “But he did not do this, Captain. He was there that night with Shelley, and he saw the killer. He caught him, when he…”

“Of course he’d say that.”

“Please, just give me time to find out who he is. Chalamet mentioned that he possibly could have been someone Shelley had been seeing, so maybe someone knows who he is? Maybe…”

“Forget it, Hammer. Don’t waste any more time running around, when we’ve already caught the son of a bitch.”

Armie feels helpless, because he knows that the murderer is out there, somewhere. That possibly, it’s someone he knows. But he doesn’t even know where to begin, because he can’t imagine his friends or family doing something like this. And no one had acted suspicious at his party, at least not that he had noticed. But then again, he had been so caught up in his own worrying over the girls he was supposed to talk to, that it’s entirely possible that he has missed the most obvious clue.

* * *

Armie had spent the afternoon going through everything they had discovered about the murders so far, but all that he had truly found out was that they hadn’t found out much at all. He knew that he could either go right back to the beginning and start over, but so far they hadn’t even discovered the first girls’ names. He could go through the guest list of the party, check everyone’s alibi for the night of the first murders, see if that would tell him anything. But who knows how long that would take? Too long to help Timothée, that’s for sure.

So instead of starting over, he had gone back to Timothée’s cell.

“You have to tell me, if you don’t…”

“I’m dead anyway,” Timothée whispers. “If he finds out I’ve told you, he’ll kill me.”

“I won’t let him. But I need your help, Timothée. We need to catch this guy, before he hurts someone else.”

“I can’t.”

“What if he hurts another girl?” Armie tries. “You could stop him, right now.”

“He’ll kill you too.”

Armie realizes that Timothée is trying to protect him, and it breaks his heart. Because this boy is going to hang for a crime he did not commit, and he still thinks about protecting him? Armie can feel his heart skip a beat at the thought. But then he sighs, because as much as he appreciates Timothée wanting to protect him, he would much rather protect the girls out there. The possible next victims.

“You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Is that why you lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie, Armie,” Timothée whispers. “I came to the hotel to tell you about what I’d seen. But I got scared, and I…”

“What about the other night? You knew who I was, you knew that we had met at the party, and you… hell, I even asked you about the mask. You told me you didn’t know anything about it.”

“I knew you would think I had something to do with this,” Timothée sighs. “That’s why I said I didn’t recognize the mask. But I did not lie to you. Not at the bar.”

“Why did you want to have a drink with me?” Armie asks, convinced he had fit the puzzle pieces together. But as soon as he had figured out that Timothée was the boy in the mask, it was like nothing had made sense anymore. He had been so convinced that the boy in the mask must have been the killer, but he just knew that Timothée had not killed his friend. But there is still something that doesn’t make sense, something he feels like he is missing here.

“I only came to the bar that night to leave the letter there,” Timothée admits. “But when I saw you… you looked like you could do with a friend.”

“How do I know if any of what you’re saying to me right now is real? You lied to me!”

“I did not lie.”

“Then tell me. Who did you see that night? Who killed Shelley?” Armie asks, and he expects Timothée to ignore the question. But then he sighs, and he checks to make sure they are still alone.

“I was not lying, Armie. That night… I don’t do that kind of thing,” he whispers. “But there is something about you… I saw it that night, outside the hotel. You’re like me. We’re both trapped here, in a life that isn’t ours. Promise me you won’t let him get to you. Promise me you’ll get out of here, away from whatever it is that is keeping you trapped here.”

Armie can feel the tears stinging in his eyes, because how could this stranger have seen right through him, the first night they had met? But he knows he can’t let his emotions get to him.

“Who did you see, Timothée?”

“It was Stevenson.”

* * *

Armie is going through the details of the murders again, his head spinning after what Timothée has told him. He doesn’t see why Timothée would lie, but surely he must have been mistaken. Surely Captain Stevenson couldn’t have done this. He has been trying to solve these murders as well. He wouldn’t have done that, had he been the killer. He would have tried everything in his power to steer Armie away from the investigation. He would have, Armie realizes, been happy to accept Timothée as the killer. He would have been happy when his name had come up, because it had steered the attention away from the actual killer.

But Armie shakes the thought, because this is Stevenson, the man he has worked with for years. The man who had even been at his birthday party that night. So surely he couldn’t have… Armie can still hear Stevenson’s words ringing in his head, about seeing him with the boy outside the hotel that night. He can still hear him threatening to tell on him. But Armie can’t remember seeing Stevenson that night, not outside the hotel, nor at his party. In fact, Stevenson had told him that morning that he wouldn’t be able to make it.

So how could he have seen him there with Timothée, if he hadn’t been one of the guests at the party?

It could be a coincidence, him being at the same place at the same time, but after what Timothée has told him, Armie knows that the truth is more likely far more awful than that. That more likely, Stevenson had just come out of the alleyway after killing Shelley, when he had seen Armie talking to the masked boy.

Armie knows he can’t just accuse Stevenson without any kind of evidence, especially not with Timothée already having been named as the killer. But no evidence was found. So he considers talking to Timothée again, to ask if there is anything else he remembers from that night.

That’s when it hits him what he had told Stevenson that morning. He had told him that Timothée has seen the killer. He is the only witness, and he is right there, with no way of defending himself.

Armie runs back to the cells, hoping and praying that he’s wrong about this, but when he gets there, he finds Timothée on the ground, the heavy man sitting on top of him, his hands wrapped tightly around his throat.

“Let go of him!” Armie shouts, quickly reaching for his gun, but Stevenson doesn’t move, his eyes focused on Timothée’s face, sweat pouring down his face. “I’m not telling you again, Stevenson!”

Armie pulls the trigger, and a moment later the Captain is on the ground, his dead eyes staring up at the ceiling, blood pouring from the bullet wound in his head.

Armie doesn’t even pay any attention to him though. He just rushes over to Timothée, and takes him into his arms, worried that he had been too late. But when Timothée clings onto him, he buries his face in his curls, a sob escaping him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, the thought of Timothée being killed, because of his indiscretion, almost tearing him apart. “I should have seen it. He told me…”

“You saved my life,” Timothée whispers, and Armie leans back so he can look into his eyes. For just a moment, he thought he had lost him, this young man he had only spent one night with, but who makes him feel so many things all at once, who makes him want to hold him, and kiss him. This young man, who has lit a fire in him, who makes him want to say all the things he has kept inside all his life.

“I’m never going to let anyone hurt you, ever again.”

* * *

Armie was afraid that he wouldn’t be believed, that he would be locked up with Timothée, and they would be hanged together. But his colleagues had gone to Stevenson’s apartment, and they had found all the evidence to put the pieces together. Armie knows he should have been relieved, but after discovering that it had been Stevenson, the man he was working with, who had killed these girls. Who had been playing him all along. And not only that, but who had murdered at least a dozen other girls, if the evidence was anything to go by. That had cut him deeply.

Still, he had found the strength to invite Timothée to come home with him, not ready to let him out of his sight just yet. And they are now sitting by the fire, having a drink in silence, today’s events still on their minds.

“I can’t go back to work,” Armie finally says, making the young man look up at him. “Not after what happened.”

“You found the killer.”

“I killed the Captain.”

Timothée gives a small nod, subconsciously bringing his hand up to his neck, the marks from Stevenson’s hands having left dark bruises.

“I thought he would kill you if he knew you were on to him.”

“I should have known,” Armie sighs. “He saw us, outside the hotel. He told me he was there… he even said it himself, some killers want to be caught.”

“Do you think he wanted to get caught?”

“Why else would he have told me he had seen us?” Armie asks. “He knew it would come out eventually, didn’t he?”

“Maybe he slipped up.” Timothée shrugs. “This wasn’t your fault, Armie. If you had tried to stop him…”

“I could have saved Shelley.”

“I could have saved her too, if I had gone to find her sooner,” Timothée says, but then he stares back into the fire. “But we didn’t. She’s gone. He killed her. That wasn’t on us.”

Armie nods, but he still feels overwhelmed with guilt.

“Think of all the other people you can help, Armie. Don’t let Stevenson ruin everything you’ve worked for.”

“I can’t stay here.” Armie shakes his head. “After what happened with Stevenson, with you… my family…”

“Your family?”

“That ball was thrown so I could meet a girl. They want me to get married,” Armie explains. “But I can’t. I need a fresh start, away from here, from all of this.”

“Is it selfish of me to ask you to stay?” Timothée asks, and Armie can’t help but smile.

“That night we spent together… what was that, Timothée? Was any of that real?”

“I needed someone,” Timothée sighs. “After Shelley… I needed someone. So did you.”

Armie nods, and although he had been expecting to hear these words, they are still not what he had been wanting to hear. So he finishes up his drink, ready to call it a night. But when he hears Timothée’s words, he stays seated, his eyes glued to the bottom of his glass.

“But that night felt more real than anything I have ever known.”

“Then come with me. We’ll go somewhere where they don’t know who we are.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Armie can’t help but smile, as he reaches out, and he grabs Timothée’s hand.

“You said it yourself, we’re not meant to be living these lives.”

“Do you mean it?” Timothée asks. “What about your family? What about…”

“There is nothing keeping us here. Not anymore.”

Timothée gets a nervous smile on his face, but then he nods, before leaning in for a kiss. Armie wraps his arms around him, and he pulls him against his chest, as he closes his eyes. Only days ago he had stood in that hotel, the walls closing in on him as he was forced to pretend to be someone he’s not. And although he would give just about anything for things to have turned out different, for Shelley to still be alive, for Stevenson to have been caught sooner, he still feels like somehow his life is finally starting to fall into place. And as he lies back on the sofa, Timothée curling up in his arms, he feels the sorrow and the guilt slowly but surely ebbing away. He could not save those girls, but he could save Timothée, the young man who is now gently kissing his neck, who lets out a giggle as he squeezes his arms around him tighter. Who is alive and well.

“We’ll leave in the morning.”

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> Obviously this isn't the type of story that I usually write, but I had a lot of fun trying out something new. I loved taking the prompt, and trying to turn it into something else entirely. And I am so grateful for everyone who was willing to give this story a chance. Seriously, thank you! ❤️  
> Xx

**Author's Note:**

> https://samunderthelights.tumblr.com/
> 
> Bonus horror! There are two references to horror writers in this story. Bonus points if you find them. 😉


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